


Textbooks and Time Management

by ThisWouldBeAGoodName



Category: Original Work
Genre: But Mostly Humor, Character Study, Humor, Tiny bit of Angst, first attempt, has LGBT overtones, not that you'd guess, see inside end notes for potential triggers, so constructive criticism is welcome, this character's actually suposed to be really articulate, would put them here but they kinda ruin the point of the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWouldBeAGoodName/pseuds/ThisWouldBeAGoodName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Damn. Damn. Damn. Damndamndamndamndamndamn. Damnit. Oh for the love of... Where is it? Where on God’s green earth is it? I mean, there’s limited space for the damn thing to damn well hide. Ugh, where could I have damn well put the damn thing?”</p>
<p>Just a quick character study of a character I've been attempting to write a book about, the ever wonderful Robin Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Textbooks and Time Management

“Damn. Damn. Damn. _Damndamndamndamndamndamn._ Damnit. Oh for the love of... Where is it? Where on God’s green earth is it? I mean, there’s limited space for the damn thing to damn well hide. Ugh, where could I have damn well put the damn thing?”

                (As you can probably tell from the narrowing of my vocabulary to a sertain four letter word, my morning had gone off to a less than perfect start. You see, I was in my third year of medical school, and I was extrodanerily late. Something I had sadly become rather notorious for in my first and second year. The whole thing wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been later on in the term, everyone ran late at some point, even Danny, who was affectionately known as Mr. Punctual himself. No, if it had been later on in the term I would’ve been fine, but no, because I am me it had to be the first goddamn _day_...)

“Right, so, let’s think. Got back from a night with the guys...”

                (A completely drink free one thank you very much, my judgemental friend. We’re not stupid.)

“...celebrating our last night of freedom before the horror that is year three... Forgot my keys, had to be buzzed in by a very judgmental Mrs. McCoy, then had to take the stairs because of the broken lift. Finally got back, tripped over handily placed pile of books situated right in front of door, swore for ten minutes, got changed about... here... So why isn’t it there?”

                (I feel as though I should say that, yes I do, unlike many of my peers, have my own flat [well, the one room and bathroom arrangement I currently reside in, which is rather sadly the biggest place that my heavily strained budget would allow. Calling it a flat makes me feel better about the whole thing if I’m honest]. This made me quite popular with the more ‘socially motivated’ people in our class. In other words, I provided a space that allowed them to party all night, without being bludgeoned to death by their dorm mates who liked this overrated thing called ‘sleep’. The fact there was only one room never really seemed to stop them. )

“So, if I apply my finely tuned deductive reasoning skills, gleaned from far too many hours watching the ever wonderful Jeremy Brett, it should be under this... Oh. I forgot about that.”

                (It wasn’t so much that I’d forgotten about it, more like I’d hidden it, hoping to forget it was ever there.

Ok, I’m making it sound far more mysterious than it actually is, as though I’d found a letter from an old forgotten romance from Paris. The last letter my darling love could send me before her disapproving parents dragged her off, never to be seen by me again [actually, I’ve never been to Paris. There was that one girl in Minsk, however, but that, dear reader, is another story]. Or as though I’d found the scalped head of the latest victim of my murderous, Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde style temper [Not that I have one. Doctor, remember? Can’t go round killing every hypochondriac I come across]. Or perhaps even found some rather important research paper that I'd thought was lost to the annuls of time [whilst that probably doesn't sound all that dramatic to you, try doing a medical degree before you judge me] No, it was just a well loved [worn out], light grey [washed out], cashmere [cheap imitation cashmere] jumper. The reason I hid it was nothing to do with what it actually _was_ , more like to hide the memories it brought up. The shouts of _Getoutofmysight_ and _Don’tyouevercomeback._ The questions like _Whyonearthdidyoudothistous?_ and _Whycouldn’tyouhavebeenlikeyourbrother? Gotmarried,hadkids,settleddown?_ And the endless, endless shouting of _GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT._

But, like the elusive tale of the girl from Minsk, that’s a story for another day. I’m a firm believer in finishing a story once you’ve started it, and I haven’t finished this one yet)

“Ahah! Knew it was there. Damn, I’m going to be so late! Right, check list: books, yep, jacket, yep, phone and keys, yep, bus fare, all there, trousers...

                (Another story altogether there, perhaps I’ll tell you it next time)

“... check, mascara, check.”

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNINGS* There are some references to homophobia, so if this could be potentially triggering for you, I'd give this one a miss.
> 
> AN: So I wrote this story after receiving a prompt from a friend to write something simple, with a plot twist at the end. So I hijacked the idea and used it as an excuse to write gender befuddling fiction designed to try and see if I could create a male sounding tone without resorting to stereotypes, hopefully it worked. Thanks for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed it somewhat and (shameful self-plug) I'd expect more gender based nonsense off me in the near future, if that's your cup of tea.


End file.
